


Bitter

by samarianuel



Series: TBsWL? [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 20:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samarianuel/pseuds/samarianuel
Summary: Harry Potter had not led a perfect childhood. Far from it. Now it could have been much worse, he knew that, and he was grateful that it wasn’t; he was never raped, completely starved, treated as less than a human, but he was treated as less. Less than his cousin, or his aunt and uncle, or his classmates, or any of the neighbours. That’s all it takes to hurt.





	Bitter

Harry Potter had not led a perfect childhood. Far from it. Now it could have been much worse, he knew that, and he was grateful that it wasn’t; he was never raped, completely starved, treated as less than a human, but he was treated as less. Less than his cousin, or his aunt and uncle, or his classmates, or any of the neighbours. That’s all it takes to hurt. 

 

Petunia lifted the baby from the doorstep in horror, it was a cold November morning, and the scarce blankets it was swaddled in looked about as warm as a tissue. Taking one last glance around the street, which proved empty, she carried the infant to the kitchen, where her own child sat happily making a mess on his highchair.

She pulled a surprisingly warm baby from the covers, causing its eyes to open; but when she saw them she very nearly dropped the baby. She knew those eyes, and that hair, the small amount of it that there was, oh god.  
Finally her eyes were drawn to the piece of paper tucked in the side of the basket.

 

She felt bitter sometimes, that Lily had left her to go to Hogwarts, that Lily had all the success with men, that she had died, that she had left her with another mouth to feed, but the thing she remembers being jealous of since she could remember; was her eyes. That beautiful shade of green that was complimented everywhere she went. 

The boy had her eyes. He looked just like that James potter, but he had Lily’s eyes. The exact same wonderful colour. It was unfair, she thought, how Lily won at everything, and how her child would have the same luck. She knew it was cruel, but it made her feel bitter. Just sometimes.

She knew it would be just like Lily too, down to the freakishness. That was why it didn't really surprise her to have it confirmed.

She had been going in to wake up Dudley from his nap, only to find the boys already awake, and a teddy bear floating mid-air. She snatched the bear away and ran to find Vernon, stomach curdling at the thought of introducing him into the horrid world that she had tried to deny for so many years.

He had been so understanding about taking Harry in the first place, had gone and assembled the spare cot immediately, even going to the shops and returning with several toys for him. She hadn’t told him what the boy was, she didn’t know how, and she thought she had time; Lily hadn’t shown any signs of … it, until she was eight.

She threw the teddy in the bin and prepared for a very long conversation.

 

They had decided the cupboard was the best place for him, just for the mean time, until they cleaned out the box rooms that they still hadn’t organised out from when they had first moved in, they had been busy with Vernon’s new job, and, for the past few weeks, Harry.

It wasn’t anything bad, but Vernon felt more at peace knowing that it wouldn’t ‘rub off’ on Dudley, no matter how many times she told him it couldn’t.  
They had moved all of the cleaning equipment out, and cleaned it a bit, just to make it safe. They knew they didn’t have any filthy creatures like rats, and they had cleaned out the spiders.

It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t going to be forever.

 

It was mothers’ day, and four-year old Harry excitedly ran in from the garden clutching the dirty bunch of Marigolds, and his crayon-written card.

“Auntie Petunia, happy mothers’ day!” He smiled, holding out the gifts. Petunia looked up from the sofa, where Dudley was showing her his own card.

“Where did you get those from?” she questioned, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Before he could even answer, realization dawned on her, and she dragged him by wrist to the garden, where she dramatically gaped in horror at the muddy patch.

“Sorry aunt Petunia.” Harry said, suddenly understanding why she was so upset. In a vain attempt at redemption he handed her the card. She stood completely still for a few seconds, before scrunching the card into a little ball.

“Go and get the trowel, you are fixing this, even if it takes all day!” She hissed at him, Dudley having waddled over to watch the scene staring at her. His mum was scary.

“Don’t you like my card?” Harry questioned hopefully, only to receive an angry look, as she leaned closer to him, so Dudley couldn’t hear her.

“It is mothers’ day and I am NOT your mother. Don’t make me a card again.” She stormed off to gather the equipment for fixing the young boy’s mistake. They spent an hour cleaning things up, and evening out the flower patch. By the end the boy’s neck was red and sore, he was sweaty, and his hands were coated in a thick layer of dirt.

When they were finished, she told him to wash himself off, but a question still plagued his mind.

“Aunt Petunia, why don’t I have a mum or dad, like Dudley does?” He stared at her with unbearably green eyes. In that moment, she couldn’t see the small child, only Lily, and in her moment of rage, she unleashed her feelings.

“You don’t have a mum or dad because they hated you, they got themselves into a car crash to get away from you! Don’t ever ask questions again.” She dragged him inside, practically throwing him at the sink, and told him to wash up and go to his cupboard; he wasn’t getting dinner that night. She left the room, throwing his card in the bin as she went, not noticing him picking it out again later.

She felt happier that night than she had in a long time.

 

After that day, his aunt and uncle had realized that he was capable of doing chores, a growing list of chores in fact. By the time he was five, he was already worked like a servant, and his aunt was also showing him how to cook basic things, like breakfast.

On his fifth birthday, he lay awake, 6:00 in the morning, thinking of what he might get for his birthday, last year it was a box of tissues, but this year he’d been really good, and done all his chores, and been extra polite. He just couldn’t wait.

His face fell several hours later when a grunting Vernon produced coat hanger dismissively.

 

Even though she didn’t know him, his teacher didn’t like six-year-old Harry, in fact, she appeared to actively dislike him. She picked on him in class when he didn’t understand, marked him down unfairly, and often looked the other way when Dudley and his friends chased Harry.

Harry didn’t like her much either. She was old, and wore a hideous blonde wig to hide her balding hair. He didn’t like the colour, it looked funny.

She had been yelling at him, everyone else was having free time, and she had told him to come to the front while everyone was occupied. 

“Harry, I know you cheated on this test.” She began, holding up the last shapes paper, “I know what your marks are like, and they aren’t this good, and here,” She continued, pointing to a question “Here, you use the exact same phrase as Gracie.”

“How am I supposed to have copied her? She sits too far away.” He asked, after all, it was true! Gracie sat on the other side of the large, square table. He couldn’t even see her, let alone read her answers, everything was too blurry anyway.

“Look, don’t make excuses, I’m afraid I’ve already called your guardians, and I think I’ll have to revoke your library pass.” It was then Harry started to become upset, the library was the only place Dudley and his friends never looked for him.

“But miss-“ He tried, starting to tear up, but was cut off.

“Look, don’t cry, it won’t help anything, just go back to your seat and enjoy free time.” She snapped. Harry was furiously scrubbing the tears gathering around his eyes as he walked to the back of the class, where he sat.

It was just SO unfair, he thought, how it was always him, and never anyone else. He glared at his teacher through his bleary, watery eyes. He wouldn’t have found her if it hadn’t been for the ugly wig. He glared at it, thinking about how much he hated her and her ugly wig.

Then, before his very eyes, the yellow blob turned blue. He was so shocked that he wiped his eyes to see it as best it could. Yes, he was right, the ugly wig was blue now, his favourite shade of blue in fact.

His teacher ran out, screaming, and everyone was sent home early.

He didn’t expect the reaction he got when the front door of privet drive closed.

That was the first time he was ever beaten. He had cried a little bit, but tried to hide it as much as he could. He didn't understand why he was being hurt, or why uncle Vernon kept screaming, and calling him a freak.

He did notice that, after that, they gave him less food, or it was the burnt remains of whatever he’d been forced to make. He was a naturally skinny boy, but this didn’t help at all. What was worse, his portions were being made smaller in favour of Dudley’s becoming bigger.

While Dudley grew fatter, Harry grew skinnier, but he didn’t mind so much, it slowed Dudley down whenever he played ‘Harry hunting’, but over the years it got worse. As Harry became the main cook of all meals by 7, he often tried to eat bits before anyone could serve themselves, but that was quickly shut down by aunt Petunia.

Things got really bad when he was 8.

He was running, not the way most kids run, joyful, and smiling, but like a boy whose life depended on it. He was losing them, but he needed somewhere to hide, somewhere Dudley’s gang wouldn’t look for him, as the library was long discovered as his hide-out.

As he spotted the bins, he felt relief, because as long as he could last the ten minutes of break that were left, he might be able to avoid Dudley for the rest of the day. He jumped over them, to save time, and immediately felt wind on his face.

In terror, he grasped the nearest ledge, because he’s slipping, and sliding down harsh tiles, he manages to hold onto the gutter, and hangs there for a few seconds, before the gutter gives way, and he lands onto the flat rooftop of the classroom next to it. He is breathing harshly, not from the running. Because for a few terrifying seconds, he thought he was going to die.

His relief was short lived, especially when he sees Dudley point at him, yelling for a teacher.

That was the second worse beating he had ever had. It almost broke the skin. He was given a packet of frozen peas to take to his cupboard by a disgusted, but self-conscious Petunia, (God forbid he have visible bruises!)

He was fed even less after that. The food-stealing came naturally, and he didn’t feel bad about it. He didn’t care, he was so hungry. They fed him barely enough to keep him going, but it wasn’t enough, especially not when Dudley stole the food straight from his plate. Of course, just as naturally as the stealing came, so did the locks on his cupboard.

The beatings became more common after that, not serious ones, maybe he’d burn the bacon, and aunt Petunia would hit him over the head with a wooden spoon. Well, he didn’t think they were serious.

He didn’t think they were serious because that was his life from that point. Because Harry Potter was abused. Even if he wasn’t raped, or worked until he passed out, or not given any food at all, or even whipped with a belt till he bled, he was abused. Abuse was a very easy thing to do, and it came naturally, down a slope that all began with a floating bear, and a cupboard space.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, Petunia Evans felt bitter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is the side-fic to my other work, "The wrong boy who lived?", but you don't have to read it to understand this. I wrote this because i wanted to represent how i personally think Harry was treated, obviously it's left quite open to interpretation, but this is how i see it.  
> I view this as a way to improve my writing, so i'd love criticism, but obviously "Shut up F*g" isn't a very helpful comment so i'd appreciate it if it's constructive.


End file.
